


Answers to the question of revolution

by TheBitterHedgehog



Category: FriendSim - Fandom, Hiveswap: Friendsim - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, Gore, Mild Language, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBitterHedgehog/pseuds/TheBitterHedgehog
Summary: A late 4/13 gift.Your name is Tyzias Entykk. You are a teal legislacerator (in training) of eight and a half perigees. Your hobbies include studying, doing homework, reading illegal documents, mugs, and not keeping a healthy sleep schedule.You are also a rebel and are helping to spearhead a revolution on your violent, corrupt planet.Fellow rebel and best friend Daraya has invited you to rebel event under the guise of an indie concert -- the perfect place make new allies and grow your movement. You're excited for the opportunity, but also shaking in your socks and sandals. You've never participated in anything illegal that was so big before. Will you all be culled before the band can even begin their set?More importantly, how will get Stelsa to let you go?This is somewhat adjacent to the universe from the work The Progeny written by articulatelyComposed. It is great and worth a read!
Relationships: Mallek Adalov & Diemen Xicali, Tyzias Entykk & Daraya Jonjet, Tyzias Entykk/Stelsa Sezyat
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. My lover said, “No”

Your name is Tyzias Entykk. You are a teal legislacerator (in training) of eight and a half perigees. Your hobbies include studying, doing homework, reading illegal documents, mugs, and not keeping a healthy sleep schedule.

Currently, it’s your lunch break. You are across the street from your office at a little grubble leaf water place with Daraya. It’s a clear night sky with a full moon. You both sit outside at a tiny table for two, ranting. You unload about your cubemates’ shenanigans while Daraya complains about cavern life and the difficulties of sneaking out. 

“I swear, Tyz, one of these days Bronya isn’t going to believe me when I say Wanshi and I are going for a stroll around the caverns,” Daraya says, stirring her drink with her straw. The bubbles spin in the whirlpool she makes. “She can’t possibly buy that I’m so directionally misguided that everytime I try to navigate through the tunnels I need three to four hours to find my way back. Especially if I have a ridiculously smart wiggler by my side.”

“Yyeeaahh. Where is Wanshi now, anyway?”

Daraya finger-guns to a small bookhive two stores down. You see the little jadeblood sitting by the window, book in one hand and a steaming cup (presumably hot grub cocoa) in the other.

“As long as I keep bringing her to a bookhive that carries one of her purrbeast series books, she’ll be my cover whenever I need her.” 

You shrug and shake the bubbles around in your drink. They float up and down in the light green liquid. “If you’re worried about needing to change up your story, couldn’t you get Lanque to go along with you? You seem to tolerate him well enough; he might be good for an escape or two.” 

Daraya coughs a dry laugh. “Oh, he’d do it, but there’s no way that would work. He gets into way more trouble with Bronya than I do.”

You snort. “I find that hard to believe.”

“One time Bronya caught him trying to get it on with MSPA reader at a troll house party. A party with drugs. That he bought from Bronya’s ex. ”

You spit your drink back into your straw. “No.”

“Yup. Caught him half naked and with Faygo on his breath.”

You snort. “He fucked up. How’d he get caught?”

“Does it even matter? It was a three strike ‘you fucked up’ situation. Not even Karako would have been able to escape the shitshow that was Bronya’s fury. You should have SEEN her bring Lanque back by the ear to the caverns. Like a wild, enraged purrbeast dragging it’s misbehaving offspring by the scruff of its neck home for a scolding. She made him wash his mouth with soap and has had him on dish duty since.”

You both crack up, laughing so hard that passerbys look at you funny. 

“Okay, you’re right,” you say, finally catching your breath. You wipe a tear from your eye. “I guess you do, somehow, manage to get into less trouble than him. A small miracle, really.”

“Mhmm,” she hums. She takes a sip for her drink. Then her brows knit together, pensive. “Actually,” she starts slowly, looking down at the table. “I was wondering . . . if you would like to help me change that a bit.”

You quirk a brow, but are still smiling. “You know I’m always game for helping you break the rules. What were you thinking this time? Another late night abandoned mall visit?” 

Daraya bites her lip and swivels her head, looking around. She makes a waving motion with her hand for you to quiet down. This makes you sit straighter in your seat. Your smile drops.

When she is sure that you two are alone, she reaches into her pocket and takes out a waded piece of paper. Carefully, she uncurls it and smooths it out on the table before pushing it over to you. 

You look at the bumpy, wrinkled paper. It’s a poster dominated by the image of a garbage eating hoof beast skull rising out of a black background. The horns curl into spirals close to its white head, and the lower front teeth stretch up to the oval nostril holes. The writing is smeared but legible, and floats in thick ghostly gray letters below the skull’s chin:

**LIVE THIS WEEK: MASKED CHIXIE.**

**OPENER: THE GRUBBLES**

**ALL NIGHT CONCERT FROM ALTERNIA’S RISING INDIE MUSIC STARS**

**COME ONLY IF YOU ARE BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND THE HEAT FROM THESE MUSICIANS’ HOT SONGS**

**LOCATION: WAREHOUSE 23 BY THE GREAT ALTERNIAN RIVER**

At the bottom of the poster is an orange circle with a pair of antlers in the center. Beneath the circle is a torch. 

Your hand slides to cover the symbol. You stand now, drink pushed aside, and lean forward as far as you can over the table. “Where did you get this?” you whisper. 

Daraya leans towards you, meeting you in the middle of the table. “Outside the door of a laundromat on the way down here.”

Your eyes dart to the sides. You see no passerbys, no drones. You’re completely alone, but you still feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. 

“Why did you take it?”

“Uh, for us to go to it. Duh.”

“Are you off your thinkpan? We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Daraya snorts. “Like any meet-up we’ve gone to hasn’t been dangerous.”

“We talked about this,” you sigh. You feel your glasses slipping and readjust them quick. “We only meet with groups of four or five rebels in an obscure but semi-public place, and ONLY if we know at least half the people there. This is literally a concert full of gray meat sacks we have never met, all conveniently in one place for a drone to drop a bomb and incinerate in a second. We might as well shoot fireworks that spell, “Cull me, please!””

Daraya snatches the poster off the table and holds it toward your face. “It’s only obvious to us that it’s a rebel thing because of the symbol.” She points at the orange circle. “It can easily be interpreted as the band logo or something innocuous. Otherwise it looks just like a normal indie concert. Besides, I’ve seen these posters hanging at Beetle stops and Grubbie Marts. Drones and loyalists have been passing by this thing all day and have done nothing about it. It should be fine!”

You snatch it back from her and shove it in her face. “Even if it weren’t a rebel event, there is also the concern of this,” you jab your finger on the date, making it crinkle more. “It’s gonna be on a work night. I need to wake up at dusk to be in the office by nightfall. And won’t you have, like, jadeblood lessons in the caverns or something around then?”

Daraya rolls her eyes. “I’ll find a way to get out of them. Lanque owes me a few favors.”

You shake your head, frowning. “It’s still too risky. We’ve never been out for longer than three hours at one of these things. What could be the purpose of this? Why host such a big gathering NOW of all times? There is literally nothing going on. People are gonna start asking questions, and --” 

“Tyz, you need to stop. You’re overthinking this,” Daraya interrupts. Her brows are scrunched together and her arms are crossed in front of her chest. “So what if a concert is just a concert? That symbol shows that there is still a chance of people like us being there. You’ve been talking about getting your smell sponge out of your books and into the fight. Come out and meet more of the trolls outside your own circle who want to help you start your revolution!”

You bite your lip and glance down at the poster. The skull stares back at you, the eyes empty and black. It looks like it’s grinning. A smile from the abyss. 

You sigh. “Dar, it all sounds great, but you can’t just spring this on me out of the blue. I need to think about this.”

Daraya scoffs. She throws her hands in the air. “What is there to think about? The answer is hell yes!”

You run a hand through your hair. “Even if I could go, and I mean IF, how am I supposed to get this by Stelsa? ‘Oh, sorry I missed work today honey. I decided to do the completely out of character move of staying out all night.’ I can’t exactly fake being ill while spending the whole night out.”

“Can’t you just take the day off?”

You arch an eyebrow at her. “That would be even more out of character for me.”

Daraya shrugs. “Fine. Bring her with you then.”

Your jaw drops. Before you can say anything, Daraya continues,

“The Grubbles will be there. You mentioned she liked them, right? They still got a public cover of being a fairly neutral band on politics and stuff.”

You look at her for a long moment, considering what she said. You sigh and drag a hand down your face.“You know I still haven’t gotten Stelsa completely on board with this whole ‘revolution’ thing yet, right?”

“If they are spreading the posters out to the public, then it has to be SOME sort of veiled attempt for it to be a normal concert. And who knows? If it does turn out to be more ‘rebel’, it might be the thing that changes her mind! Imagine how sweet it would be for your matesprit to be in on all this with us. You wouldn’t need to hide your research anymore, and with all her sources from her clients we can gain a huge advantage! Bringing her would be for the good of the revolution.”

“I don’t know . . .” You look off to the side, your finger tapping against the side of your leg. “I really don’t want to put her in danger . . .”

She scoffs. “How do you think she would feel about all the danger you’ve already put yourself in if she knew what you’ve been doing? Think you’re being fair to her here?”

You cringe, and feel your heart falter with guilt for a moment. “Touche.” 

“Come on. At least try? Please? And if she says no, we’ll think of something else.”

“. . . . I’ll think about it.”

Daraya sighs. She dramatically flops back into her chair, making it scrape against the ground and make a horrible noise. 

“Gggooooooooddd why are you making things so difficult? Will I have to literally break into your hive and drag you to a rebel thing? YOU? Miss ‘bring down the establishment’?”

You readjust your glasses and sit back down. You take a long sip from your drink. “I’ll ask her after work. I promise.”

Daraya flops her forearm over her eyes, but you see her smile. “You better. I don’t want to be that one loser who goes to a concert alone.”

*******

After work, you return to your hive to find Stelsa in her office. She is at her husktop with several files open around her on her desk.

“Oh, well hello there my darling Zizi!” She bounces off her yoga ball and meets you at the door. She wraps her arms around you and she kisses you, and you kiss her back, your hands gripping her shoulders as you softly press your lips to her’s. 

“How’ve you been, Stels?” you ask when you pull away. 

“Never better Zizi never better! I’ve been working on the most interesting cases today can barely keep up with them just one right after another like little cluck beasts lining up in a row!” She releases you and sits back on her ball and goes back to typing. She talks to you while looking at her screen. “Busy busy busy! That’s the mantra for the day, because busy means business and business means food on the table and more customers. More customers means more renown, which means I’m one step closer to getting the Condense herself to being a client and wouldn’t that be a treat? Not to mention the mental stimulation! You know what they say, you really can have your round confectionary sugar loaf and eat it too, especially when you’re very hungry and you go on a long run but I went on two already today so I get to have more of that cake but oh what am I doing? Here you are my darling matesprit my very favorite person and I haven’t alloted you even fifteen seconds of my five minute non-working break! How about you, darling? How has your day been?”

You smile and lean onto the doorframe. “It was fine. The usual. I’ll get more into it at dinner.”

“Yes, your office shenanigans. We got plenty of those today by me too with that one teal blood down the hall I told you about. Gregor something. Now that’s a real piece of work troll let me tell you oh my god the silliest mistakes that troll makes! I swear I could write an essay, no a book on all the silly foolishness he gets into. I know he’s new and I should be nice and I’m of course polite to him as polite as a wiggler to their lusus but oh the pulse pusher attacks he gives us when a client calls back about a newbie mistake on their contract! Oh dear I’m talking too much again tell me more about your day Zizi I remember you mentioned that you were gonna meet with Daraya for lunch today right? How was that?”

You shrug, playing it cool. “Fine. She’s doing fine. Nothing new to report.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, really wonderful!”

“Actually . . .” you take a deep breath. You don’t know if this is the right time or way to ask, but if you don’t do it now you know you’ll lose your nerve and overthink it and never get to it. “We’re thinking of going to a Grubbles concert this week and we were wondering if you would go with us.”

Stelsa stops typing and beams. “Oh I love the Grubbles! They have that one song about driving a boat into a wall that I just adore! You know the one,” she hums the notes of the melody. “It’s my go-to song for my workouts when I need a little pick-me-up. I’d love to go! When is it?”

You feel your face stretch wide from smiling. “Two days from now. Here’s the info.” You hand her the poster that Daraya gave you.

Stelsa excitedly unfolds the poster like a wiggler opening a present. When she finally opens and reads it you watch her smile slowly fall into a frown. “Oh . . .” she says, suddenly deflated. “I see that Masked Chixie is headlining.”

You feel your heart plummet to your stomach. 

Stelsa grabs her planner and flips it open so quickly it makes some sticky notes fly off her desk. “I’ve suddenly remembered that I have an important meeting that night. And don’t you have that big group project due at the end of the week? You should probably skip the concert, my apologies to your moirail, and schedule something--”

“What’s wrong with Chixie?” You try to keep your voice level, but you have your hands behind your back and your nails are digging into the meat of your palm. “I’m not, like, that into her either, but from what I heard she isn’t that bad . . .”

“Her talent isn’t the problem darling.” She pushes the poster back across the desk toward you. “It’s the ideals she pushes. I understand that she’s a lowblood which is fine by the way! I don’t see color all rainbows are gray to me you know my usual spiel on hemospectrum issues, but she’s said some things about our empire and our Condense that make me . . . uncomfortable, when I listen to her music. She was on this indie radio station I was listening to on my way to work the other day and the things she said about our society made me blush! I mean it was in code, obviously, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to get the underlying messages and I never switched a station so quickly in my life! I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t been culled yet it really is only a matter of--”

Stelsa stops herself, eyes widening. She looks you up and down, then narrows her eyes at you. “You haven’t been attempting to support anything . . . like her, have you Zizi?”

You find yourself gulping as she makes direct eye contact with you and holds it for a long, quiet, tense moment.

“Of course not,” you say, and your hand is screaming from how hard your nails are digging into it. “It didn’t even cross my mind that it might be a ‘rebel’ thing. I just thought you might want to see The Grubbles. Daraya must have overlooked something when she invited me. She probably didn’t know any better. But you’re right -- if you think it might be more than just a concert, we probably shouldn’t go.”

Stelsa doesn’t say anything. She continues to look you in the eye.

“Good,” she says, tone flat. She does a mini-hop atop her ball to readjust her seat and goes back to typing. “We can plan something with her for another day. I hate to rain on everyone’s parade but it’s better to be safe and legal than dangerous and culled, right darling? Especially with those . . . late night study sessions of yours.”

You don’t look her in the eyes as you mumble, “of course”, take the poster off her desk and make up some excuse about getting some office work done before ordering the grub loaf for dinner and leave the room as quickly as you can.

  
  



	2. The world said, "No"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyzias makes a choice.
> 
> Daraya goes to her first concert. 
> 
> New allies are made. 
> 
> A life is snuffed out too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter will have gore, minor character death, and lots and lots of blood. If you are uncomfortable with this please be wary going forward. It occurs about 3/4ths down in this chapter.

listlessAdvocate has begun pestering jadedObstetriatic

lA: She said no.

jO: Goddamnit. Worth a shot though.

lA: It’s awkward as hell here now. Stelsa thinks I might be one step away from running through the streets carrying the Suffer’s symbol screaming bloody murder, but is pretending she doesn’t. 

jO: That’s shitty. 

lA: It’ll be okay. This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to spring some rebel activity onto her. But I’ll have to be on extra good behavior for the next week or two. Hopefully her fear of my insurgent behavior will go from mild concern to disgruntled acceptance of my weird antisocial hobby. No more late night ‘research’ sessions for a while. How are things on your end?

jO: Not great. Wanshi got hived.

lA: Oh shit what she’d do?

jO: Bronya found her journal and saw a bunch of anthropomorphic purrbeast dicks or something. I’ve lost my cover for a week. 

lA: Fan-fucking-tastic.

jO: Ha yeeeaaaaaah. My thoughts exactly. Anyway, are we still on for the concert?

lA: You know, it’s very typical of you to be faced with all of life’s circumstances pretty much screaming at you not to do something, and yet going ‘fuck-it’ with your goth troll flair and doing it regardless. 

jO: I was just gonna fucking leave.

lA: Really?

jO: Yeah! Just wake up, leave a note, then split. 

iA: But what about when you get back? Bronya will kill you. And that other loud one will too. What’s her name, the one you say has a crush on her? Lynera, right?

jO: I’ll jump that hurdle when I get to it. I’m not scared of them. 

iA: You’re really gonna go?

jO: Yeah! Aren’t you? 

iA: I told Stelsa I wouldn’t.

jO: Can I be a bad moirail and suggest something you’ll hate me for?

iA: Shoot.

jO: Go anyway. Play hooky from work. She’ll never know. 

iA: Wow I hate you.

jO: I know, I’m terrible. I’m telling you to lie to your spouse. It’s breaking so many quadrant rules right now. But think about it: who will tell her? The rebels whose first names we don’t know? You’re too careful to get caught. 

iA: My hate for you is a bottomless pit. Scientists are still trying to figure out how deep it is and are on the verge of going ‘fuck it’ and putting a sign on the edge saying, ‘we don’t know, it’s really fucking deep’.

jO: You literally just need to leave in the evening like you’re going to work. Then instead of work, you meet me in front of the concert. Then we leave in time for you to get back to your hive around the time you would get back there if you had actually gone to work.

iA: I’m contemplating switching quadrants with you. You like black, right? 

jO: Stop it. You know you could do this without any repercussions. Why not do it? 

iA: If Stelsa finds out I lied about going to a rebel concert, there is a chance she’ll leave me, granting I’m not culled at this concert first. 

jO: All I’m saying is that I think you should go and I KNOW you’ll regret not going. But it’s completely up to you. 

iA: . . . ………………….. Fuck it.

I’ll meet you at the warehouse at the first sign of night. 

jO: Hell. Fucking. Yes. 

listlessAdvocate has ceased pestering jadedObstetriatic.

*

You feel your pulse pusher beat loud and hard against your ribcage as you get ready for ‘work’ on the day of the concert. Your hands shake so bad that water bounces over the rim of your trusty mug. You have to put the mug on the kitchen counter and shove your hands down your pockets, count to ten, breathe, count to ten again, breathe, before you are steady enough to pick it up without spilling. 

You’re at the front door about to turn the knob when Stelsa calls your name.

“Zizi!” Shit, you think. She knows. She figured it out you don’t know how but she did she knows god you must look so guilty oh shit she’s coming closer shit shit shi--

“You almost forgot your lunch, darling,” Stelsa hands over your lunch pack. “Can’t work on an empty stomach. Second most important meal of the day I always say especially when you don’t eat breakfast really darling you should at least have a grubbar or coffee or something you’re so skinny!” 

You force a laugh. “You know me Stels. I’m not much of an eater.”

Stelsa huffs. “Honestly I wonder how you function on a day-to-day basis. You seem to run on nothing but water and stubbornness alone. Hang on, you have an eyelash on your face.” She pops your personal space bubble and wipes under your eye with her forefinger. She holds her finger out and blows on it. “There! Gone!”

You expect her to leave, but she lingers in your bubble. She bites her lip and looks to the side. “Hey . . .” she starts. “I know I’ve been a bit frosty to you lately since putting my foot down on that concert.” You gulp at the mention of the concert and nod silently. “I know you were only trying to think of me, and you probably didn’t know about the whole . . . you know, and I feel just awful about it, just awful, but I just got so . . . so . . . oh, I can’t think of the name of what I was feeling, but you know I care too much about you to risk something happening to you, right?”

You feel your pulse pusher’s tempo rise again as a jolt of nervous energy shoots through you. You don’t know what your voice will do if you speak out loud, so you just nod again.

She smiles. “I was thinking I could make up for it. How about you and I go do something fun today? Just the two of this. There’s this great new art museum that opened on the other side of town. Why don’t we take off from work today and go visit it? They’re showing works from this great new Indigo artist who’s supposed to be all the rage right now.” 

It takes every ounce of self control you have to keep your eyes from widening or mouth dropping open. You pray that your face appears like its normal, tired self as you clear your throat and risk speaking. “But you. . . . Stels, you never skip work.” Oh thank the nonexistent gods your voice sounds normal.

Stelsa goes “pppsssshh” and waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just one day! The world won’t fall to pieces in one day, right? I mean it might I am the glue holding my firm together but that’s all hear-say and besides we haven’t spent a day together in ages! What do you say? Can you spare me today?” She wraps her arms around your waist and looks at you hopefully, eyes shining and face expectant.

You look back into those beautiful teal eyes. You open your mouth, then close it, then look up at the ceiling and sigh. “Sorry Stels,” you say. Your hands snake down to her’s and pry them from your waist. You hold her hands as you speak to her. “I’ve got a real big project due tomorrow. Leave it to Tirona and Tagora to be late with their work again. I’ll need all night to play catch up if we hope to expect any sort of decent grade. Could we put a rain check on that museum?”

“Oh, but are you sure?” she squeezes your hands tighter and speaks a little faster, voice a pitch higer. “We don’t have to go to the museum. We could meet up for lunch! How about that new place around the corner from your office? I hear they make an exquisite––” 

“I have a lot of work today Stels, I’m probably just going to skip lunch. I need to be alone today. We’ll go there next week, okay?”

Stelsa bites her lip and squeezes your hands tighter. “Sure, sure,” she takes a deep breath and her voice calms down. “Work before pleasure I know the feeling especially with all the work I always do I always have something to do and you do too. Just,” her grip is strong and it feels like your hands are being crushed. “Just actually go to work today, okay? Only work, no bookhive or . . . or anything else. Promise?”

You and Stelsa share a long, tense, quiet, awkward moment together. The last rays of the day’s sun shine through the kitchen window. They glide over the two of you, sinking lower and lower until they are just little bright squares of light on the tile floor. “I hear you.”

Stelsa is still frowning, but nods. She lets go of your hands, gives you a little peck on the nose, and walks toward her office to grab her files for a client meeting she has in an hour. Seeing her walk away after all that stirs something in your gut. You put your things down on the counter and rush through the hallway after her. You catch her and spin her around and kiss her passionately.

“I love you. So much. You know that, right?” 

Stelsa presses your foreheads together. She closes her eyes and smiles. “I love you too, darling.” 

*

The second you step into the warehouse with Daraya, you turn into a sponge. Your senses go numb. You can’t hear anything. You can’t see anything. But you can somehow _taste_ the vibrations in the air as the booming sound waves from the oversized speakers crash into you.

After your body recovers from the initial shock of just how loud this place is, you take in your surroundings. The inside of the warehouse is poorly lit and musty. The building dwarfs the stage -- it only takes up about a fourth of the whole area. The majority of the space is taken up with wooden purple crates stacked in various piles, some going as high as the ceiling, while others are shorter than a wiggler. In the center of the warehouse are around two hundred trolls crowding around a raised platform serving as a stage. A rustblood on drums and a bronzeblood with a guitar play a rock song (you presume these are The Grubbles). The trolls closer to the stage jump to the tempo of the song, while the ones further back cheer or watch intently. Some stragglers idle far away from the crowd and stand in little groups of three or four chatting. 

Daraya gawks at it all like a wiggler on Twelfth Perigee, shiny eyed and giddy. “Oh my god, I love this!”

You click your teeth together to make sure you can still feel them. It feels like your entire skeleton is tingling, like two pipes smacked together. “I should have gone to work.”

Daraya playfully punches you in the arm. “Come on, let’s go watch.”

You and Daraya head toward the stage. You don’t recognize anyone there, and the music is too loud to speak to anyone near you. With no other options presented, you hover near the back of the crowd and watch the show.

The Grubbles have a long set and play for longer than you would expect for an opening band. The most you do is nod your head to the music. Daraya gets way more into it than you do. She stomps her boots, yells back the choruses, and cheers loudly with everyone else. 

During the middle of a particularly energetic song, she turns to you, sweaty and grinning maniacally. “I wanna go in the middle!”

You look at the moshing bodies twenty pairs of horns ahead of you. Even in the bad light you can swear you just saw a tooth go flying through the air just now. “What are you, two perigees?”

“You know I never get to go to concerts. I got to let loose while I can!”

“No way in hell am I going in there.”

“Pssh, fine, ya old lady. Mind if I leave you at the sidelines then?”

“Just don’t get trampled to death.” 

Daraya flips you off and you quickly lose sight of her as she dances her way through the bodies toward the middle. As the next song starts, you decide to join the straggler ring and rest your eardrums for a minute.

Away from the stage, you sit down on top of a crate and rub circles on your temples. You breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. As you rest, your bones start to feel less like putty and more solid, like hardening clay. 

You glance around the straggler ring of trolls. There is nothing familiar about any of them. None of them are screaming ‘rebel’ to you and are dressed in the usual fashion of indie concert troll attendees. You catch a glimpse of a teal blood with lipstick that matches Stelsa’s . . . 

You bend forward and sink into your lap, clutching the back of your head. The thought of Stelsa and the guilt from this evening makes your stomach queasy and your head hurt.

“Hey, want some grub gum?”

Out of the corner of your eye you see a male Ceruleanblood troll around your age and a packet of gum extended down to you. 

You look him up and down. He has a lot of blue piercings on his face, ears, and horns and is wearing a hoodie with his sign on the front. You go through your limited mental lexicon of concert drug nicknames and can’t think of anything that this could be referring to. You settle with a straightforward “Why?”

Earrings shrugs. “Dunno. Helps cope with the noise when I forget my earplugs.”

You stare at the gum. After a long moment, Earrings sighs. He reaches into the packet and pinches a piece free. He unwraps it, shoves the wrapper into his pocket, and makes a show of chewing the candy. He waves his free hand over his face to show that his eyes are working normally, and walks back and forth in a straight line. He ends back up where he started and extends the packet back to you.

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t know people brought earplugs to concerts.” You accept the gum and pop a piece into your mouth.

“More should,” says Earrings. “First time I went to a concert in an echo-y place like this I couldn’t hear right for almost a week.”

You hum in thought as you chew. “I’ll have to look into it. But isn’t the whole point of the concert to listen to the music? Wouldn’t the earplugs make you miss out on some stuff?”

Earrings snorts. “As if there is any quiet subtlety at a concert.” He pockets the packet and extends a hand to you. “I’m Mallek, by the way.”

You take his hand and shake it. “That’s your real name?”

Mallek laughs. “Why ask?”

You open your mouth, hesitate, change your mind about what you were going to ask, and word your next question carefully. “I’m pretty sure I’m chewing drugs. Drug dealers need pseudonyms, right?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

Mallek shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and shrugs. “I suppose they do. But that’s just regular old grub gum there, promise. I’m just a dude named Mallek. Whether or not you think it’s my real name is up to you.”

You nod, satisfied with the answer. “In that case, just call me T.”

Mallek nods. “Cool. Cool. I can vibe with that. Kind of figured you wouldn’t give me a full name.”

“What makes you say that?”

Mallek gestures to the whole of you. “You kinda already have this whole ‘anti-establishment’ look going on. Shirt not tucked in all the way, socks with sandals, messy hair. Not trying to crimp on your style, honest. It’s cool. Just saying it’s, ya know, kind of clear that you’re not just here to rock out. ”

You clench your jaw and feel yourself blush. “Well, socks and sandals are always rebellious no matter where you are,” you say. You push your glasses further up your nose and clear your throat. “And you have the textbook anti-establishment horn and noise rings.”

“Well, it is a concert.” 

You spin on your crate to face him. “What did you think of the concert poster design?”

“It was fine,” Mallek’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I thought it was pretty good. Some might even describe it as being ‘hot’.” You lift your head higher. “Furnace hot. You know how to keep a furnace hot, right?” 

Mallek’s expression turns serious. “Stoke the fire.”

You smirk. You get off the crate and stand up in front of him. “Wanna go talk about something other than music?”

He nods, then jerks his head to the side. You follow him away from the concert and through the piles of crates. 

It gets darker the further you go to the other end of the warehouse. Mallek takes out his palmhusk and turns on the flashlight feature to light the way. The crate stacks are higher and closer together until a sort of tunnel forms and you have to walk one behind the other. Occasionally you glance behind you and watch the stage get smaller and smaller until you can’t make out the distinctive features and it’s just a warm light. You find yourself reaching for the spare pen in your pocket and clutching it like a knife.

At the other end is a small clearing. A small, pudgy rustblood with shaggy hair sits crossed legged on the ground. He looks young, not even five perigees. He is playing a game on his palmhusk in one hand and is holding a hot dog in the other when you arrive. When he sees you two coming, he scrambles to his feet and shoves the palmhusk in his vest pocket. The hotdog remains where it is. 

Mallek gestures to the short rustblood. “This is my associate, Diemen. He’s been helping me organize the movement since I first joined. Diemen, meet T, another member.”

Diemen gives you a toothy smile. “Heya lady! Want some of my succulent meat rod?” he then shoves the foul looking hotdog in your direction. “It’s the freshest piece of cylinder muscle flesh around!”

You’re standing ten feet away from him, but you can still smell the hotdog. Your stomach recoils at the stench. You cough to disguise a gag. “Uh, no, I’m . . . not hungry. Thanks.”

Diemen, still smiling, shrugs. “More for me!” He makes no move to eat the hog dog. He cradles it close to his chest like a baby doll. You shoot Mallek a quirked eyebrow, to which he only shrugs.

Mallek claps his hands together. “Okay, introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business. Everyone make a huddle.” Once you’re all so close together that your heads are nearly touching, he flips his palmhusk upside down to have the light point to the roof, letting you all see each other’s faces. It creates shadows on Mallek’s face that emphasize the sharp point of his chin and edges of his cheekbones. Diemen has no facial features other than pudgy cheeks and just looks like a shiny gray donut. “As we are currently in an internet-dead, communication blocked area of the warehouse, thanks to the mad hacking skills of yours truly, we can speak freely about whatever the heck we want. So let’s get the obvious out of the way; we’re all part of the revolution, right?”

You and Diemen nod.

“Great! Well, Diemen I already knew, but I just wanted to say this all to you T to let you know that you’re safe. We’re on your side.” 

“Appreciated.”

He flashes you a smile before becoming serious again. “Okay. We all admit to doing illegal activities. Awesome. What do we want to talk about?”

There’s a brief, awkward moment as the three of you figure out what to say. And then Diemen says something along the lines of “fuck the government, right?” then you all unleash into unabashed, unfiltered discussion about the revolution and the atrocities of your society. Well, you and Mallek do. Diemen doesn’t have much to add aside from that first line that is objectively useful; he just interjects with comments about hot dogs occasionally. Regardless, you and Mallek excitedly update each other on everything you two know –– rebel numbers, safehouses, planned attacks, current leadership, new laws being cooked up –– and everything else you could hope to know (to the best of your and Mallek’s knowledge, anyway). 

When the topic of communication comes up, Mallek asks you, “Are you part of our Pester chatroom?”

You shake your head. “Never heard of it. Is that safe?”

“Normally it wouldn’t be, but you’d be surprised with the amount of hackers we have. We’ve created a totally untraceable chat room. We use it all the time. Give updates on drone attacks, warn each other of threats, schedule meet-ups, take head counts, that kind of stuff.”

“But why have all this then?” you gesture to the whole of the warehouse. “Why have a big gathering like this when you can just communicate through that?”

Mallek’s eyes avert to the floor. “Gotta keep numbers up. We haven’t been able to stop the high kill count. Stuff like this is good for recruitment.” 

“And you trust me enough to let me in?”

Mallek shrugs. “We’ve had snitches before. Probably have snitches in it now. There’s no way to have a completely foolproof way of keeping them out while trying to maintain a following of more than ten trolls. But I promise you that your identity is safe in it. Plus, you know your stuff and you seem trustworthy to me. We risk more not having you then we do letting you in and getting screwed over by you.”

You frown and nod. You give Mallek your palmhusk and he adds you to the Pester chatroom.

After he gives you back your palmhusk, you tell the two you need to get Daraya in on all of this. The pair agree and you head through the crates to the concert. Just as you enter the straggler ring again, Daraya emerges from the mosh pit. Her clothes are wrinkled, her hair is a mess, her shoes are scuffed, she has bruises on her arms, but she has a wicked smile on her face and her eyes are blown wide. She spots you and comes running toward your little group. 

“OMG, have you been making friends?! On your own?!!” She buzzes with energy, still high on the adrenaline from having crashed her body with a bunch of strangers. 

You roll your eyes. “Ha. Ha. Ha. I’ve earned my social gold star for the day.”

Daraya squishes her cheeks and jeers at you. “Aaawwhhh my moiriail is growing up!”

You flip Daraya off. You travel a safe distance away and have Daraya go through introductions with Mallek and Diemen. After some talking and rejections of hot dog eating, they give her the pesterhandle invite and you rejoin the concert to not arouse suspicion. 

As the four of you stand at the edge of concert goers and watch Masked Chixie take the stage, you take a quick glance to Diemen and Mallek. You decide that you like Mallek, and you think you can get on board with Diemen as soon as you can get used to his obsession with phallic meat. 

You breathe easy and feel the tension lessen in your neck. You have a good feeling about them. About all this. You feel you are at the beginning of something good. Really good. 

*

And then it all goes to hell in a handbasket. 

It happened after the intermission. Masked Chixie took -- no, OWNED -- the stage with her fiery hip-hop and innovative lyrics. The crowd was putty in her hands, responding exactly the way she wanted to everything she did.

At the time your world decided to go down the drain, Masked Chixie was taking a break from rap by performing an acoustic version of one of her serenades. She was sitting on stage with her legs crossed, strumming her guitar slowly, her voice syrupy and velvet soft. The crowd was enraptured as they waved their lighters or palmhusk flashlights in the air. You swayed with the crowd, eyes closed and breathing easy, Daraya on your left, Diemen on your right with Mallek next to him.

Then there was a loud thud from the roof. You and a few other trolls looked up, but after a moment of nothing you shrugged and went back to listening to the music.

Then there was another thud. Then another. Another. 

The thuds turn to shreks of metal being ripped apart. Masked Chixie stops playing and everyone is looking at the roof. They group closer together and begin tittering nervously.

You see the silver glint of a giant saw slice through the thick metal roof of the warehouse. The buzzing sound it makes echoes so loudly throughout the cavernous warehouse that you have to cover your ears and grit your teeth to bear through it, paralyzed by the sheer pain it brings to your eardrums. You can feel Daraya’s body buckle next to yours.

When the sound stops, you crack an eye open. A giant perfect square hole in the roof unveils the night sky. The full moon’s light outlines the silhouettes of four drones.

Everyone is screaming now. They scrabble for the exits. No one runs in any particular direction –– like bugs under a rock, they go up down sideways diagonal, bumping into each other and knocking others over. A few cry out from hands and heads getting crushed by their friends’ boots.

The drones waste no time. As two fly down and start firing into the crowd, the other two begin firing at the roof. Giant chunks of metal and cement fall, destroying the tall stacks of crates or squashing frenzied trolls who chose the wrong direction to run. 

A giant shadow falls atop your group and you barely jump out of the way of a boulder that lands to your right. As it hits the ground you’re pushed by the force onto your back and get the wind knocked out of your lungs. You hit the back of your head so hard there’s a ringing in your ears. You lie there for a moment, dazed and gasping for air, when Daraya grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet. She’s saying something to you, gripping your shoulders and looking you in the face, but you can’t make out the words. She looks scared. All you hear is the ringing. She ushers you to the exit until you’re cognizant enough to run on your own two feet. When she notices, she lets you go, leading the way while you hurry behind her. 

The ringing subsides enough as the two of you weave through the mob and fireballs that you’re able to hear yourself think again. You’re almost to the exit when you suddenly grab a hold of Daraya’s shoulder and make her stop. “Diemen and Mallek!”

Her eyes widen. “Shit! Where are they?!”

Daraya curses you as you turn around and go back. By now the drones have set most of the wooden crates on fire. You run into fat black smoke and a terrible, terrible heat. You feel your face flush and eyes sting and water. You lift your shirt up over your mouth but still cough and splutter and wander blindly as you look for the boys. By some Sufferer’s miracle, you find them where you left them.

Mallek is still with Diemen. He is covered in dirt and part of his right sleeve has been torn off but he otherwise looks okay. You see him tugging on one of Diemen’s short, pudgy arms. The rest of the rustblood is under the boulder that had fallen earlier. Only the hot dog, a puff of Diemen’s shaggy hair, and the one arm are all that you can see of him not buried in stone. 

Mallek sees you running up to him and cries out, “Help me! It fell on him when he pushed me out of the way!”

You see tears in his eyes and his hands drenched in red blood. You swallow down your own cries and grab the back of Mallek’s hoodie and try to pull him away.

“We have to go!”

“But he’s still alive!”

“He’s not! We gotta go!”

There’s a tearing sound and you and Mallek go flying back. Mallek lands on top of you. His head hits your nose and you feel a burst of blood run down your nostrils. One of the frames of your glasses cracks and showers glass over your eyes. You groan as Mallek rolls off you and you carefully wipe the glass off your face before gingerly sitting up, clutching your nose. Across from you Mallek holds the detached arm of Diemen. Blood pours over the globed white end of his shoulder bone and down the jagged, torn flesh and pools on the ground. There’s a lot of blood. You both sit there in the midst of dying trolls and attacking drones as the puddle spreads and coats the ground beneath you, flowing under your hands and legs and wets the seat of your pants. The hotdog is nowhere to be seen. 

Daraya catches up and pulls you both to your feet. “Move! Move your asses!” She pushes your stunned bodies toward the exit until instinct finally kicks in and the three of you haul ass, choking down ragged breaths of smokey air the entire way there.

A fireball sails past your heads as you make it out the entranceway. A hand clutches the back of your head and you immediately take it off, the singed hair almost burning your palm. But the air outside the warehouse is clean and for a moment feels sweet and soothing to breathe as you keep pumping your legs away from the scene.

You see Mallek break off from your group and run in a different direction, toward the river. You are about to call out to him when you remember that the river is where the Cerulean neighborhoods are. He must be heading home to get some tech oto hide from the attack. Or maybe he was breaking off to make your group smaller and less likely for the drones to target. Or maybe he was being an idiot. But that, right now, doesn’t matter to you. 

Right now, you are sprinting through the woods from a burning warehouse. You don’t hear the tell-tale sound of jetbacks and know that you are probably not being chased. Daraya is ahead of you. Branches pull at your clothes and whip scratches on your face. You are covered in teal and red blood, your lungs are screaming, your glasses are broken, your nose is throbbing, and you have several pebbles caught in your socks that dig into your feet with each step you take.

But you don’t care. You keep moving.


	3. But you said, “Yes”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snuff out the flames of a fire?
> 
> That's fine.
> 
> You can always light up another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, but here is the last chapter of the story! Hope you enjoy it.

You don’t know what time it is when you and Daraya make it back to your hive. Only that the moon is low and the stars have dimmed. The air is sticky from the nighttime dew being evaporated by the planet’s already rising heat. It feels like you’re breathing in cotton as you trudge home silently, taking the backroads in case there are any drones on the street looking for you.

When you’re at the doorstep to your hive, you turn to Daraya. You look at each other’s charred clothes. The bruises on her arms. The scratches on your legs. The caked blood on both your faces.

You can’t stand it. Body shaking, you step forward and wrap your arms around her tightly. 

Daraya hugs you back. She starts to choke out a sob but then stops herself, swallowing loudly. She shakes in your arms. 

You hear bugs chirp. Flight beasts hiss. The wind rustles the grass and tree branches in your front yard. You both stand there for what feels like a long time. 

You pull back first. “Will you be able to make it back to the caverns before the sun rises?”

Daraya wipes her eyes and sniffs. “If I run I can.” 

You take her hand and squeeze it. “I guess . . . with how long you’ll be hived, I won’t be seeing you for a while then, huh?”

Daraya coughs a laugh and sniffs again. “Yeah, probably . . . .”

“And you’ll . . . be okay?”

Daraya looks at the ground. She kicks a pebble with the toe of her boot. “Eventually.” She scratches her arm. “What about you?”

You pause, then say, “Same.” You reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “Message me when you get back, okay?”

Daraya nods. You’re both quiet again. She wipes her nose on her arm and sniffs. Then she straightens her posture and holds her head high. She squeezes your hand back before letting go and sprinting down the street towards the woods to take the hidden path home. You watch her run until she is out of view, then go inside your hive. 

You hear typing. Stelsa is in her home office with the door open. Having heard the front door close, she calls out to you, “Oh Zizi there you are I was wondering what time you would come back!” You hear drawers close and footsteps coming closer toward you. “You’re a little later than normal, which makes sense since you do have that big project and usually that’s fine but I came home exhausted just exhausted I could barely get through my strength training today so I ordered more of that grub loaf you love so much for dinner but it came early so it’s a bit cold, but if you want I can put it in the ove--” She sees you and stops.

“Oh god, Zizi . .” Stelsa approaches you slowly, like you’re a wounded animal. She gingerly touches your check and scans the cuts on your face. “What happened?”

The words die in you. You open your mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. You just stand there, gaping like a scale creature.

Stelsa takes care of any talking you might have needed to do. “You must’ve been near that awful drone attack. I heard on the news today that one had happened near your office and I was afraid that you might have gotten caught up in it. Oh look at you now so dirty and weirdly covered in red was there a rustblood or two in your office that got squashed my god so much blood on your nice pants but I’m so glad that most of it doesn’t seem to be yours, elated actually. ” She rubs your shoulder and gives you a small smile. “Poor dear, you’re all shook up. Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything nothing at all but let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You let Stelsa lead you to the bathroom and remove your ruined clothes. Dazed, you go through the motions of getting into the tub, washing off the dirt and grime, drying, dressing your wounds, and putting on a clean set of pajamas. 

She lays you in your recuperacoon and kisses your forehead. “Poor dear, you had such a long night. Get some rest now. You’ll feel better tomorrow night, I promise.” She puts your spare pair of glasses on your bedside table. She bends down and pecks you on the lips. “Night, my love,” and shuts off the light when she leaves.

In the dark you lay awake. The slime feels good on your skin and soothes your scratches and bruises. Normally, the cool gooey substance would help ease you into a restful sleep. But right now you have so many tiny thoughts moving so fast in your mind you can barely keep up with them. Can barely comprehend that you’re having any thoughts at all. Your brain feels blank and loud, like a husktop screen with no picture. Just static. 

Your palmhusk buzzes. You assume it’s Daraya and don’t move to answer it. You know the sun will not be up for at least another half hour and that the drones won't bother singling out anyone higher than a gold blood; she should be home safe.

But then it buzzed again.

You don’t want to answer it. You don’t want to move, especially if it means leaving your recuperacoon or finding out about another friend getting hurt. You let it lie in your bag, the one that Stelsa had placed at your desk on the other side of the room. You turn on your side to face away from the device and close your eyes, determined to fall asleep and forget that today ever existed.

But then it buzzes again. And again. And continued to do so.

After the twentieth buzz you couldn’t take it anymore. Groaning, you tear yourself from your recuperacoon, getting slime all over the floor, your body aching and muscles screeching. The wounds on your feet from running on all those stupid pebbles that snuck into your socks still haven't closed up yet. You leave partial bloody teal footprints and make an aquamarine trail as slime mixes with the blood on your march to the desk.

You snatch your palmhusk from your bag. Teeth gritted, you raise your arm and prepare to chuck it to the ground. You hold it in the air for a long time, the device vibrating in your hand. Your arm buzzes and your palm feels tingly. When your shoulder starts to get sore you sigh and slowly lower your arm. You feel around for your glasses in the dark and open your palmhusk to read your messages.

snakeBytes has began to pester Furnace chatroom

snakeBytes: Anyone know how to keep a furnace hot?

Your device buzzes again and a pesterhande you don’t recognize responds, “Stoke that fire.”

Then you read the messages before that one. Dozens of pesterhandles have responded back, all with the same message. And more were still coming in.

You rack your brain for what this could be. Suddenly two words hit you and it all makes sense: rally cry. 

Your eyes start to water. Through your tears, you see a familiar Pesterchum handle respond to the chat.

jadedObstetriatic: Stoke that fire.

You feel your heart swell. You smile as you type.

listlessAdvocate: Stoke that fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my very first published fan fiction! I'm new to this and would appreciate any constructive feedback. Please leave comments and let me know what you liked or could be improved!
> 
> Next chapter will be coming out next Wednesday, promise!


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